Plain Sight Exception
by Cirocco
Summary: An overheard answering machine message is just the start of things. Complete round robin, written with Cassatt, Tobias Charity, and LynK13.
1. Parts 1 to 3: Lennie, Ed and Jack

**The Secrets Vignette Challenge:**

_"Pick a fandom. Pick a character. Describe a moment where that character discovers a secret. Any fandom, any character, any secret. 500 words exactly (and yes, you can do it!)."_

From therealjae's livejournal site, which doesn't seem to show up on this site. E-mail me if you want the address – there are literally hundreds of responses.

This round robin began its life as a simple entry to therealjae's Secrets Vignette Challenge. Cirocco answered the challenge with an entry in which Lennie Briscoe discovers something about Ed Green. Cassatt asked if she could do a follow-up from Ed's point of view. Then Tobias Charity jumped in with an entry from Jack McCoy, soon LynK13 added an entry from Anita Van Buren, and before we knew it we had a bouncing baby round robin on our hands.

Due to life suddenly whacking many of us in the face really, really hard, the round robin was left unfinished at chapter 18 for many months until Cassatt and Cirocco finally had the breathing space to finish it off. And now it's all done.

C'est tous, mes amis. Hope you enjoyed the ride as much as we four did :)

**Lennie****, Part I**

by Cirocco (500 words)

Well, DUH.

Yeah, I know. Real eloquent, Lennie. But seriously, that's been my opinion on the subject since yesterday night. My daughter Julia says that whenever she's amazed at just how dense her old man can get.

I'm kind of amazed myself, actually. I mean... four years. I never clued in to what are pretty obvious clues, now that I think about it. And I'm a detective, have been for years. You'd think that would mean something. You'd be wrong.

Duh.

He never talked about his personal life, so I thought he was just kinda private. I knew he was single, so I teased him about it and implied he probably had an active nightlife. I mean, I partnered with Mike Logan. Do that for a couple years, and you're bound to think it's a law of nature that a young single guy in New York probably spends most of his off-hours bedding every available female around. It didn't occur to me to think there could be any other reason for that privacy.

There were other clues too, now that I think about it. A comment here, a look there. Unusual ease with some situations, unusual discomfort in others.

I dropped by his place unexpectedly last night, even though I know he doesn't like that - he's given me the Ed-annoyed look the two other times I've done it in the last four years. But it couldn't be helped. I was literally in his neighbourhood when I realized that our new vic's oh-so-forgiving ex-wife had been lying through her teeth that morning. She told us she'd seen him Thursday at nine, in his office. His e-mail account showed he'd been logged in from home at that time. God, I can't believe I even know what any of that means. I guess my last two partners and Julia have somehow managed to jam something of technology into my head.

So I got all excited and dropped by to see if Ed wanted to go pick up the ex for questioning.

If his answering machine has one of those time-stamp things, and Ed remembers that I looked a little off when he came out of the washroom (I'm sure I did), he's plenty bright enough to figure out that I heard the message that came in. I wonder if he'll say anything. Something tells me he won't.

The toilet flushed as the call came in, so I know Ed didn't hear the message himself. Didn't hear a man's voice on his machine, saying words that, if you were really, really naïve, you could interpret another way - I mean, I've heard black guys use that term of endearment with each other when I knew it didn't mean anything. But the tone really couldn't be mistaken for anything other than what it was.

"Ed, it's me. I'm... I'm sorry, babe. You were right, I had no right to... look, I'm really sorry. Gimme a call, please. I- I really wanna work this out."

**Ed, Part II**

by Cassatt (500 words)

Cassatt, whose L&O fanfic website can be found 

wrote this as a response piece to Plain Sight Exception. Ed's point of view, also 500 words. She kindly gave me permission to post her response here. Thanks, Cassatt!

jael: Lookit! More Slashable!Ed!

Lennie keeps staring at me. I catch him, and in that split second, we both know what we're each thinking. I wonder if he'd be surprised by what else, exactly, is going through my head today. Then I wonder if I'd be able to tell that Lennie _was_ surprised. The most he'd do would be to lift his eyebrows.

Four years. For four years I've been able to keep my personal life strictly behind closed doors. My doors. I've gone along with the assumptions, just like I've been doing since I joined the force. I've listened to Lennie moan that he's not as young as I am, doesn't have the opportunities that I do to have sex with every young woman we see in Manhattan. Like I can just snap my fingers and women come running. So to speak.

Then last night, man, last night was so.... What the hell was that, anyway? A twist of fate? A shift in the ozone? I'd just gotten home, ten minutes before Lennie was there, buzzing to get in. I'd had a fuck of an evening, on top of a fuck of a week. And that's not fuck in a good way, either. I mean, Barry had just been pushing, and pushing me, until I'd finally broken down and told him the truth. I couldn't take it any longer. So I go to pee, just to get my head on straight, just so I could be The Detective, and not someone who'd just had a fight with his lover. I come out, and Lennie looks like, well, like his eyes can't blink or something. I don't put it together until I'm back home again, and hear Barry's message. My fuck of an evening had turned into a fuck of a night.

Four years, and then some. It's not that I don't trust Lennie, because I do -- with my life. I don't even think that he'd have a hard time with it, if I gave it to him straight (I know, I know, but how else can you say it?). That's not the thing that keeps me silent, and either way, I think silence is what he expects. Hell, it's what I've been doing all along, so why change now?

No, my problem is that if I open up, then we'll be doing the buddy talking thing again, only this time it'll _really_ be about my personal life. Not that I'd mind, but given the particular circumstances of my life as it stands -- it could be... difficult. Because what's the one profession that Lennie loathes? Who's the symbol of that entire profession, in Lennie's mind?

That person is the reason that I fought with Barry. That person has been dancing around my space for months now, sending me vibes that I can't quite figure out. I only know one thing. I'm dying to do just that. To try something, anything. To make a move. How can I do that with Lennie watching?

**Jack, Part III**

by Tobias Charity (599 words)

So this started as a response to a challenge, became a response to a response, then, with this addition, became a sort of impromptu round robin. Which is hilarious, because somebody had asked Cassatt and I to "continue the series" and my immediate thought was, "But how? It's got nowhere to go."

Bzzt! Wrong! Here's Tobias Charity's answer to "Where do we go from here?" Jack's point of view, 599 words. Thanks a million for permission to post here!

The great thing about words is that they can be interpreted in so many different ways. "I didn't do it" can mean anything from "I didn't do it" to "I didn't do it _quite_ how you described I did it." Body language goes a long way towards how those words are interpreted, as well; the easy half smile a detective exhibits when he suggests looking further into a guilty suspect's actions on any given night may provide an awful lot of fodder for one's imagination.

My imagination doesn't seem to need much more fodder at this moment. Every look, every sideways tilt of the head, every brush of his hand against mine has an ulterior motive to me. It's ridiculous, of course, to think that he could possibly have any ideas regarding me, but still I entertain myself every night thinking of that possibility. I tell myself that when he comes by to work on testimony, it's _only_ to work on testimony. I tell myself that when I drop by the precinct to check on open cases, it's _only_ to check on open cases. Not to get an eyeful of him in those suits that hang so well on his tall frame, and maybe wonder what he'd look like out of those suits.

If he were a woman, either I wouldn't be having this problem or I'd already have approached him. The fact that we work together fairly often wouldn't have stopped me; it never has in the past. The fact that he's at least a quarter-century younger wouldn't have made a difference; again, that's never stopped me before. Even with his career as a cop, I could've made adaptations; I'm used to slinking around and not being exactly forthcoming as to what my current romantic interests are. The boys in blue aren't well known for welcoming their alternative-minded brethren with open arms; in fact, most are positively hostile regarding gays in their midst. But then again, the prosecutor's office isn't exactly draped in rainbow flags, and my wild oats have never grown to bear any fruits of gossip in _those_ particular hallways. No one's that careful, though--a slip of the tongue and all of a sudden you're "Jack McCoy, the Gay DA," a label I was not eager to bear.

The thing which has stopped me so far from making any propositions is the fact that I'm not quite certain what I want from him. As of late, I've had very few one-night stands, even regarding men. I'm too...dignified (we will not say old) to go bed hopping anymore. I'm strongly attracted to him physically; there's no doubt of that. His wit and his humor, as well as his obvious intelligence, make him even more attractive. However, I'm not sure if a serious relationship is a better idea than a one-night stand.

The thing is, I'm defeating myself before I even get started. One night stand, relationship--I don't even know if he's interested and already I'm planning how to end our nonexistent...thing. One day at a time, etcetera.

The thing to do was to provoke a reaction. Any reaction. Dropping hints wasn't working; despite his detective status, he apparently wasn't that good at picking up subtleties. I'd have to be a little more overt.

Carpe diem. Seize the day; each one's getting closer to your last.

I picked up the phone and dialed the precinct and his extension, and involuntarily sucked in a breath when he answered the phone.

"Green."

"Detective, it's McCoy. Would you mind coming down to my office after you get off work today?"


	2. Parts 4 to 6: Lennie, Ed and Anita

**Lennie****, Part IV**

by Cirocco (500 words)

...and back to me. Or rather, back to Lennie. Who's not nearly as oblivious as he thinks he is.

I'm seeing things. That's what it is.

And I know why I'm seeing things, too. It's because my confidence as a detective is shot.

I mean, I've always been good at reading people. You have to be, if you're a cop. It's your stock-in-trade, the ability to notice from subtle cues what somebody's thinking or feeling. I've always been good at doing that with witnesses and suspects, and very, very good at doing it with my partners.

You spend that much time with a guy, rely on him to watch your back, you gotta know what makes him tick. And I always have. As far back as Reds Carpenter when I was in uniform, a million years ago. I mean, I knew what Reds was gonna say before Reds opened his mouth. And that skill didn't fade with age.

Take my last two partners. Mike Logan, Exhibit A. I knew the secret smile Mike had when he got lucky the night before, I knew the squint of his eyes when he was bugged by a case, I knew when one of his many pick-ups had gotten clingy.

Rey Curtis – another open book. I knew when he was doing a slow burn with a suspect and I'd have to step in or risk losing both our badges. By the end I even knew, from his body language and his silences, how his wife was doing on any given day. I knew he was gonna transfer to a desk before he did.

So here's me and Ed Green. I think I know him. I've noticed a gambling habit, I know when to leave him alone with witnesses and when not to, I know when his temper is gonna get him in trouble.

So how come I go four years without cluing in that he's gay?

You can see why this bothers me. And you can probably see why I don't know any more whether what I'm seeing is really there, or whether I'm just so eager to not miss anything that I see what isn't there. I confused the hell outta myself just with that sentence.

What am I talking about, exactly? Well... here's where I feel like an idiot. Because I know he has a... boyfriend, and I know they had some sorta fight. I've picked up that things are tense. As for why they're tense, that's a little tougher, because of course Ed's not gonna open up about it. But...

See, we work with this one EADA fairly frequently. Jack McCoy. And I know McCoy's a ladies' man – his rep is almost as widely known as Mike's. Ed knows that. But I've started to notice things from Ed. Very close attention to McCoy when we're doing witness prep. A wide smile, quickly covered, when McCoy calls us. A different tone to his voice when he says McCoy's name.

And here's the really dumb part... damned if I haven't started to notice the same kind of signs from McCoy. Towards Ed.

**Ed, Part V**

by Cassatt (500 words)

Okay, so I'm on my way to McCoy's office and I admit that I'm walking kinda fast. I can't seem to slow down the pace. My mind is bouncing around so much that I almost get hit by a cab. Once I focus on the cabbie yelling his brand of obscenities at me, I give him my "I'm a cop so don't fuck with me" glare and keep walking. My mind takes off again, in time with my feet.

Lennie. I think he's on to something, but I can't imagine he's really on to _that_. His eyes did the unblinking thing again when I got off the phone and told him I needed to go to the DA's office. I didn't have to tell him, Jack (and see, now I'm trying to think of him as "Jack") said I should come by later, not during work. But I blurted it out. Lennie stared. Then asked me what case it was for, and goddamn it, I didn't have an answer. So _my_ eyes refused to blink, until I shrugged and told him I was getting a soda. Never mind that I hate the shit in those machines. I left.

Jack. McCoy. Jack, damn it. Why do I think there was something behind his request? Because I did, I sure as hell did. I only hope that my voice sounded normal when I told him I'd be over as soon as I got off. As soon as my shift was over, I should've said. Got off? What was I thinking? I wasn't, and that right there was... _is_ the problem. I was hearing things in his voice, reviewing all of the signals that've been thrown at me over the past months, my stomach was starting to take a dive, and I ended up sounding like an idiot.

I arrive at Hogan Place. Going against the traffic flow, I get in the elevator and punch the ten. My mind is suddenly way too quiet. The elevator is rising way too fast. Eight, nine, ten, and I'm on his floor, moving. I notice that his blinds are closed, but there's light so he's really there. The blinds are closed. My stomach dives again. They're never closed. I knock, though I never do. I hear footsteps, and I'm trying to judge how quickly he's walking. Faster than normal? Would I know? The door opens. I'm really thrown. He's smiling.

"Ed, thanks for coming," he says, standing aside and waving me in.

Ed, he called me Ed, and he's only done that seven other times. I smile, too, and walk in, then don't know what to do so I stand between the desk and the couch. The couch I've had any number of fantasies about, I admit. Leather can be very... very. He approaches. He's in my personal space. Way in. My heart pounds --_ I was right_. He wants to say something. He's so close, I can't take it. I make my move.

I kiss him.

**Anita, Part VI**

by LynK13 (285 words)

... and Lynk13 jumps in, with Anita Van Buren! Yay!

It hits you in the face when you least expect it. Trouble, that is. If I've learned anything as a lieutenant, it's that you never let your guard down. But I know now, what I didn't the day I accepted my promotion. You have to watch their backs, and you can never stop, even when you think they don't need your supervision any more.

It was rough to learn that lesson with Logan. He came so very far, so close to being the cop he wanted to be. I stopped watching for trouble too soon with him, I promised I wouldn't do it again.

Ed Green, though, has been a surprise from the beginning. The warnings about excessive force and a hot temper have proven to be the least of my worries. But he's been playing it close to the chest. Most of the time.

I saw it coming, but to tell you the truth, I didn't expect this. I'd seen that he's been distracted lately, the intense focus on his case toned down a just a notch. I'd seen that something's bothering Lennie, something he's _not_ discussing with his partner.

When McCoy came by yesterday, wearing _that_ smile on his face, I was surprised, I admit it. His new assistant didn't seem his type. When she walked in half an hour after him, I watched his face to see if it was true. He didn't see her at all. But as he stopped by the detectives' desks, I saw my answer. I saw who he _was_ watching. And who was watching him right back.

Edward Green, they warned me you were going to make problems for me. I guess they were right after all.


	3. Parts 7 to 9: Jack, Lennie and Ed

**Jack, Part VII**

by Tobias Charity (500 words)

And we're back to Tobias Charity. And she leaves it so well-resolved, too :)

Christ.

"I'll be over as soon as I get off," Ed's voice echoes in my head. I slam a file drawer closed in frustration and rest my forehead against the metal. Get your mind out of the gutter, I tell myself. Never mind that you have absolutely no idea as to what you're going to do once he arrives. What, sit him down in one of those chairs and tell him, "Ed, I'd like to have sex with you."

Oh, yeah. _That'd_ go over beautifully.

I pace across my office, then flop down onto the couch. The leather squeaks and I run my hand over the arm. Hmm...

No. Not with the fantasies right now. I get up and peer out the window into the hallway, toying with the blinds. Open might convey the wrong message. But what kind of message would closed convey?

Disgusted, I shut the blinds and go back to my desk. This is unreal, me behaving like a teenage boy on his first date. Not even first date; just asking for a first date.

There's a knock at the door and I reach it two strides before pulling it open.

God. Try as I might, I can't keep from smiling when I see him. "Ed, thanks for coming," I say, stepping back and waving him in. He's grinning too, like he knows something that no one else does.

For some reason, a tiny little worm of doubt starts to wiggle at the back of my mind. What am I really trying to do here? Get him home with me? Is that the point of this?

I'm flying blind now, and as I search for something to say I unconsciously step towards him. Before I realize it, I'm in his personal space. He tilts his head to one side and smiles that secret smile again. I have to say something, anything, or else I'm liable to-

He kisses me.

Immediately I kiss him back, sliding my arms around his waist and pulling him even closer to me. It's so right, so simple, so easy-

So easy. No, no, it can't be easy, there has to be a snag somewhere- he's not supposed to just walk in and KNOW what's going on -this isn't right-

God, what am I doing? This can't work out- so what if he's kissing me just as enthusiastically as I'm kissing him? Nothing in my life's ever been this simple, it can't be this simple now, not when I've gone through dozens of other relationships that needed work, dammit, no one can read minds and just KNOW.

I can't do this- can't relax, can't just enjoy the feel of his hands sliding down my shoulders to rest on my biceps, can't just enjoy the taut muscle beneath my hands, can't just enjoy the way he takes over the kiss- I can't do this. Every neuron is screaming at me to do _something_. I pull back and push him away, gasping for air.

"Stop."

**Lennie****, Part VIII**

by Cirocco (500 words)

Decisions, decisions. Right now I can't decide whether I want to take my partner to a bar and order him to spill (his guts, not his drink) or take him into an empty IR and shoot him.

Too bad I can't really do either. But I can dream, can't I?

I don't think we've had a crappier time working together since the first few months after he transferred to the 27. We normally get along pretty good. We can disagree, but he hasn't pissed me off this much since that case in our first year when I threw something at him.

Now, I've been partnered with some of the most hotheaded young punks in the NYPD and I usually just blow off steam with a couple of sarcastic remarks and keep things professional. But with our partnership, it's good not just because of me, it's also because of Ed. Ed's rep for a violent temper- that's only with suspects and other lowlifes. With coworkers, he's a really decent guy. Even that one blow-up we had, way back– that was mostly my fault. I was pissed off at myself, way too sensitive, and Ed just couldn't seem to say or do anything right.

Well, this time it's not me. I'm just fine. It's this... Detective "Racial Sensitivity" who's replaced my laid-back partner. Detective "Efficiency". Detective Impatient Asshole.

Want some examples? OK, here's one: "Ed, you wanna go do the drug dealer thing with this mook? See if we can track down-"

"Why, 'cause a brother's gotta be believable as a drug dealer?"

"Hey, sure, if you think anybody'll buy me dealing crack..." I say, trying to get rid of the offended little glare he's giving me. No chuckle, no smile. Just Ed going off in a resentful huff to do undercover work. Which he normally likes.

Here's another: "Lennie? Didja finish the Flanders report?"

"Nah, just writing up Chernensky-"

"Oh, yeah, cause what's the point of finishing Flanders? Just because the DA's asked for it twice now-" he grabs the papers off my desk and mutters something about Doing it himself, goddammit.

He's been like this fulltime, for two days.

And the way he says 'DA'... really, really bitter. Like he doesn't want to give the DA's office any reason to look cross-eyed at him. Ed doesn't usually give a damn about stuff like that– he's conscientious, but he doesn't sweat the normal tension between us and the lawyers.

Normally. Ever since McCoy called him to his office after hours the other day, he's been moody as hell. He almost jumped when I answered a call from McCoy (who sounded a little off too) and said McCoy's name. Then he got up really fast, mumbling about photocopying something.

I overheard him talking to somebody on his cell today. Sounded like a heavy conversation, but I couldn't tell with who. I hope it was his boyfriend.

Yeah, let this be boyfriend troubles, please. Because otherwise... Ed, you idiot, what have you done?

**Ed, Part IX**

by Cassatt (500 words)

I think I'm gonna kill Lennie. I swear if he keeps looking at me like I've got some problem, that if I'd only handle everything would be fine.... Like hell it would. Fine? Uh uh. Maybe he had a point, a slight one, that a workout would be prudent. Prudent. Like some bench presses would fix "whatever," he says, is bothering me. Like hell they would.

But I'm here, in the workout room, pumping. Thinking, too, unfortunately. I thought the point of lifting weights was not to think. Ah, fuck.

I never imagined Jack McCoy would be a man to go wishy-washy. Never _occurred_ to me. Wouldn't have occurred to me in, say, a trillion years?

_"Stop...."_

I take a deep breath and begin another set of reps.

"Stop," he said, pushing me away, panting and wild-eyed.

I was still reeling, I admit it. I'd been thrown by the intensity of the guy's kisses, the charge, the heat. Chemistry? Praise God, Allah, and anyone else you can think of. Stop? I was dumbstruck.

"Ed," he said as I was still trying to focus. Name said nine times. Nine was not going to be a magic number, I realized. "Ed," he repeated, "I don't know...." He petered out. He stared.

What?? He didn't know? What was eluding him? Had he missed the enthusiastic response his mouth, tongue, hands and body had been giving me? Huh? I was trying to think but my own body was still humming.

"Well," I finally said, albeit with a bit of attitude but shit, I'm only human, "when you figure it out, give me a call, Jack." I left. I left before giving him a chance to respond.

Looking back, that probably wasn't my finest hour. Or minute. Whatever. And it's not like I have any choice but _to_ look back on it. The damned thing replays almost continuously.

Of course, he hasn't called. I did, maybe, perhaps, half-expect him to, last night. One day to think should be more than enough for a man as smart as Jack. And yes, dammit, he's still "Jack." After all, once a man's tongue has been halfway down my throat I ain't gonna fall back on formality. Not in my head, at least.

What do I want here? I'm not even sure I know any more. There've been times in my life when I've simply gone with whatever felt good at the moment. Followed the flow, took the opportunities that presented themselves. Without planning. I thought that's what I was doing again. But for that one minute we were kissing, it felt so right, so good, so perfect. So easy. Flowing now means to let it go just as easily. I don't know if I'm willing to do that. I don't know fucking much right now.

I shove the barbell up and let it rest. I can't lift any more. Barry called me today. Hoping I would have called him by now. I think I'll go see him tonight.


	4. Parts 10 to 12: Jack, Ed and Jack

**Jack, Part X**

by Tobias Charity (500 words)

Here's Tobias Charity picking up Jack (but not the way Jack picks up Ed).

Right now, there are a hundred thousand reasons I could give you for why I'm sitting on my couch, staring at my phone, and mentally willing it to ring.

Every single one of those reasons would be utter bullshit.

Honestly? I have no idea why I'm doing this. He told me to call him, not vice versa. Ed's a proud man, just as I am--that's one of the non-bullshit reasons I'm sitting here. Pride cuts into things, makes life difficult. If I didn't have pride, I'd probably be dialing his number right now. My pride's important to me--my reputation, my job--they're all built from my pride. I'm too proud to take simple deals; that's why I have a high conviction rate. I'm too proud to let a witness fall apart on the stand. I'm too proud to have an inept lawyer work with me. I'm too proud to ask the man I--well, let's just leave it at the man I kissed--I'm too proud to ask him for a second chance.

And really, there's no reason I should get a second chance. I've gone through my excuses for backing away and shot them all down. Too young? Nah. Too cop? Definitely not. Too male? Hasn't stopped me before. Too black? That couldn't possibly matter to me.

The one question I continue to find standing in my way is this: "What do I want?"

I'm not the type to have a one-night stand with a colleague. Rather, I'm no longer the type to do something like that. I tell myself I'll do what he wants, but what if he's looking for a relationship? For commitment? Almost worse--what if what he's looking for is only a one-night stand? Maybe I want something more than that.

Jesus Christ, all I did was kiss the guy-I didn't ask for all this emotional baggage to go along with it.

You know what? Fuck pride. I'm going to call him, and yes, I'm going to ask for a second chance. If I don't deserve it? Fine. He can tell me so, I'll hang up the phone, and we'll continue our professional relationship like this never happened.

I glance at the numbers scribbled on the back of his card, then quickly dial his apartment.

"Hey, this is Ed. I'm out right now, so leave a message."

I let out an exasperated sigh and wait for the tone. "Ed, this is Jack. I'm--I'm really sorry." There goes a good two-thirds of any pride I had. "I'd like a second chance. I'm--god, I'm sorry." And that's the last third. "Give me a call back; I really want to try and work this out. It--it means kind of a lot." Apparently I'm now in the negative-pride zone. "G'bye." I hit the power button on my phone and dig the heels of my hands into my eyes, relishing the pain and the ache.

God, what have I gone and gotten myself into?

**Ed, Part XI**

by Cassatt (500 words)

How can the blinking light on one answering machine be so omnipresent? Good word, huh? Means being present everywhere. I had a beer in the kitchen and saw it. Took a leak and saw it. Now, I'm sitting on the bed and the damned thing is shining here, too. I guess it won't stop until I play the message. Here I sit.

It's late, and it was almost later. I mean, Barry was doing a pretty good job of convincing me to stay the night. But one thing I'm not, at least I hope I'm not, is a heel. I've been called lots of things, but never a heel. All the while Barry was doing his damndest to get me into bed, one sensation kept interfering. One memory. The blood-deep rush of desire I'd felt in Jack's office. A rush which was just plain different than the rush on Barry's couch. At one time, I thought I loved Barry. I still think I do. Life can suck, can't it? I should know -- it sure as hell can.

I return to the living room and, once more, stand in front of my answering machine. Don't know why I'm so hesitant. I know it's Jack. I just do. Here I thought I was into risk-taking behaviors. That's what my friends tell me. What I think of myself. There's only one risk blinking at me. Jack saying, "Sorry, no hard feelings, hope we can continue working together, blah, blah." Why does that feel so fucking huge?

I almost go for another beer, no matter how late it is, or how early I have to get up. Instead, I hit the button, quickly. My heart is pounding. This is ridiculous. I listen. My heart pounds harder; I listen again. Almost the same things that Barry said in his message. But these words don't make my head ache -- these words nearly make me pick up the phone. At eleven o'clock at night. I wonder if he's still awake, if he's been waiting for me to return the call, if he's given up.

Jack McCoy give up? I can't see it. But do I want to wait until tomorrow, when he might make the assumption that I didn't spend the night in my own bed? Or that I had to think about what he's offered? Which would be worse? Should I care?

I listen a third time. He's nervous, I can hear it. I reach for my cell. His number is there, for work emergencies. I try not to think anymore, just hit "send" and wait. It rings three times.

"Hello," he answers, his voice deep, maybe with sleep. I can't tell.

"Hey, Jack, it's Ed." My brain flails momentarily. "I just got your message." Good, Ed.

Silence. "So is my apology accepted?"

"Yes, of course," I answer with haste.

"Good."

I can hear the smile. I smile, too.

He continues, "How about dinner tomorrow night?"

"How about lunch?"

He laughs. I do, too. Good, Ed.

**Jack, Part XII**

by Tobias Charity (500 words)

This trial is never going to end. I'm supposed to meet Ed for lunch in half an hour and we still have four more witnesses to get through before we can think about a recess.

Though maybe...

I stand up. "Your Honor? May we request a short recess?"

Mandez blinks. "Whatever for, counselor?"

"Lunch?" I offer weakly. Mandez shakes his head and my stomach plummets.

"No can do, McCoy; this trial's behind schedule already."

"Great," I mumble, then say, "Then may we have ten minutes to reorganize this afternoon's appointments?"

Mandez raises an eyebrow. "What are you, McCoy, a whole law firm rolled into one person? Secretary, assistant, and lawyer?"

I keep my mouth shut. Mandez sighs. "Fine. You have five minutes."

"If I'm not back, cover for me," I say to Serena, before striding out into the hallway and heading for the payphones. I pull the phone off the hook and dial the precinct.

"Green's phone," Briscoe says, and my stomach takes another dive to the floor.

"Lennie? It's McCoy. I need to talk to E--Detective Green."

"He's not here."

Shit! He's probably already left for the restaurant, and now I'll have to leave him hanging because some incompetent attorney doesn't know how to trim a witness list. That'll sit well with him, I'm sure. "Wonderful," I mumble. "Can you do me a favor?"

"What?"

"Call his cell phone and tell him I won't be able to make it. The Lascalli case is running behind and Mandez won't let us out for lunch, and I've got a voir dire afterwards."

"Want his cell number?"

"Sure." Lennie rattles it off. "Thanks, Detective." I hang up without waiting for a reply and glance at my watch--two minutes left. I dial.

"Green."

"Ed! Oh, thank God."

"Jack?" He sounds concerned. "Is everything okay?"

"Not quite. The Lascalli case is running over because the defense is pulling the bore-the-jury-to-death trick and they're using four witnesses instead of one. I thought the judge would throw out the other three but he hasn't. So..."

"You won't be able to make it today," he says heavily, a statement. "I get it, McCoy."

"You do?" What was there to get? I couldn't show for lunch; it wasn't as if..."Ed, no, c'mon. I really do want have lunch with you, it's just--"

Ed sighs. "Look, let's give this one more try. I like you. A lot. I'd like to trust you, but I'm also sick of being yanked around on an emotional chain. One more chance, McCoy."

"Dinner?"

"At the Highwayman, on 8th."

"I know it. Thanks for being--"

"Can it, McCoy," he says. "See you at seven." There's a click and a buzz and I hang up my phone.

One more chance. I don't deserve it--I don't deserve him. But if I'm lucky enough to get it, I'll take it.

God --ten minutes over time! I head back to the courtroom, fighting to keep my grin from showing on the outside.


	5. Parts 13 to 15: Lennie, Ed and Anita

**Lennie****, Part XIII**

by Cirocco (500 words)

This morning I finally got my partner back. The touchy, brooding, sarcastic asshole I've been working with for days apparently took a hike overnight. Actually, he looked a little better than normal, and went off to lunch like he used to go off to Atlantic City.

Then McCoy called his line, trying to get a hold of him. Some court thing yadda yadda, he can't make lunch, will I call Ed to let him know.

What am I, a messenger service? I gave him Ed's number and tried to tell myself they were just meeting to go over testimony. And that the bounce in Ed's step when he went off to lunch, and McCoy's nervous voice on the phone, were totally unrelated.

Ed came back from lunch none too happy, but keeping it together. But I get the feeling Asshole Ed is gonna be back tomorrow. And I can't even tell him, Been there, pal. Because first off, no, I haven't, and second, I'm not even supposed to know anything's going on. He doesn't trust me enough to tell me squat.

Which sorta pissed me off at first, but then it made me think. I mean, what must it be like to be a gay cop? To know you can't do the guy thing with your pals, bitching about a clingy girlfriend or nasty ex-wife, because they just might shoot you if they find out the girlfriend's a boyfriend? Damn lonely, probably.

Although, gay angle aside, guys don't open up real easy anyway. I mean, yeah, me and Rey shared a hell of a lot, but that was mostly just circumstances. Serious crap rained down on both of us in those years. You're partnered with a guy when his daughter dies or his wife gets MS... you're gonna talk about more than just sports. A lot of barriers got broken down. That just hasn't happened with Ed.

But he just got another call, at 6:30. McCoy, calling Ed's line again.

"Oh - Lennie. I'm looking for Detective Green."

"He just left."

"For dinner?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"Fuck!" I heard him say off-phone. "Fuck." He cleared his throat, said, "Thanks," and hung up.

Whatever the hell is going on, that didn't sound good. And I'm not looking forward to working with Asshole Ed again, you know?

"Who was that?" Ed asks, coming back from the can. I guess he hadn't left after all.

"McCoy. Don't you have your cell phone on?"

"Battery's low, I'm recharging it," he says, distracted, checking his watch. "What did he want?"

"Trying to get a hold of you. I told him you left for dinner." I pause. "He said 'Fuck' and hung up."

Ed turns around and goes into an IR without a word, slamming the door.

OK, you know what? Screw the silent stiff-upper-lip macho crap. I can't take another couple of days like the last two. So I follow him into the IR.

"Ed. What the hell is going on between you and McCoy?"

**Ed, Part XIV**

by Cassatt (500 words)

I'm about to toss one of these chairs against the wall and I don't even know why I'm so fucking mad. And I am. Fucking mad. And it's ridiculous! Jack only ran into some scheduling shit today, he didn't tell me to go take a hike! Just the opposite, for God's sake!

Yelling at myself, yes, that'll help.

The door opens and it's Lennie. "Ed," he demands, "what the hell is going on between you and McCoy?"

Oh, great, Lennie on my case. That'll help, too. I consider the chair again. "What," I say as loudly, but slower, "are you talking about?" I figure that deflection is a good strategy. There's no way in hell I'm gonna answer his question.

"Don't even try it, partner."

Ah, fuck, I know that voice. I see that attitude. "Lennie," I say, throwing the warning right back.

"Look--I got you going nuts, I got McCoy swearing, lookin for you, first lunch and now dinner--do you think I'm that stupid?"

"Fuck!" I can't think of what else to say. I know, let's see who's really stupid here.

Lennie mutters, "Not you, too." He sighs in exasperation; I calculate how quickly I can make it out the door before he can react. "Okay," he says in a buddy-type voice. My turn to sigh. He continues, "Looks to me like it's pretty simple." He grins, or grimaces, I can't quite tell.

"Simple, you think it's simple?!" I can snark, too.

"Yeah, damnit, it's simple! You two wanna go out, then do it! What's the problem?! He's a busy guy, you're a busy guy, so?!"

I stare at him. Probably longer than necessary. He doesn't understand. Do I?

"Ed, it's that you want it too much, isn't it?" He's looking at me funny, which could be due to the fact that we're talking about Jack McCoy here.

"I...." I blink. He's right. "How do you know that?" I challenge.

"I just do. Now, go," he says pointedly. "Talk to him." I finally relent, and nod, not having the energy to do much else. He leaves.

At least I can honestly say that I never told Lennie anything.

I've been everywhere--Jack's office, the restaurant, some bar he once mentioned. I've called work and home numbers, left messages at each. Apologized for being an asshole. Used up what I had left of my minimally charged cellphone. Been sitting here, outside his apartment. Don't ask how I got in the building. I'm a cop. I look at my watch. Almost nine. There are seventeen cracks in the ceiling. Eighteen reasons why I should go home.

"Ed."

I turn, and he's approaching. I stand. "Hey," I say.

He shrugs. "I've been looking for you."

I see the look in his eyes and finally breathe. "Me, too. I'm sorry...."

He raises a hand to stop my groveling. "Doesn't matter. Want to come inside?" He smiles.

Oh, yeah, I want this too much. "Yes," I answer sincerely.

He unlocks the door.

**Anita, Part XV**

by LynK13 (450 words)

Trust. That is always the bottom line. I trust _my_ people, my family, my precinct. Sometimes the line is blurry. Some of these men and women have become my family, sticking by me not only on the street, but also through my court battles, both as a defendant and through the fiasco of my litigation.

I've always hoped they trusted me just as deeply. I _know_ they have put their lives in my hands on those occasions I've joined them on stakeouts. I've _felt_ that bond. They trust me to watch their backs on the street, with the rat squad, with the D.A.'s office.

Ed has been ready to be a team player since day one. Beneath his Mr. Cool attitude, it doesn't take too much looking to see the man inside. What shines out is his enthusiasm for life, and a warmth and empathy that the job still hasn't burned out of him.

I thought we've been doing well. He's opened up some about his gambling past. Given me ungrudgingly his side of the story on the temper outbursts that gave rise to the "excessive" force rumors. Lack of sleep, a backsliding partner, and perps that were about to slide away with their greasy lawyers. Would I have put it on his record? I've made Lennie drag Curtis out of the interrogation room when he was about a hair away from crossing that line into brutality. I know Ed felt his conscience was clean.

Are these things enough to earn not just respect, but Ed's trust? How much trust does he need to share the secret he's carrying? I would rather not test the how high the walls are, walls he must have to keep around his private life. But something is, and has been, off between Lennie and Ed. I can't stand by and watch my best team lose the connection that makes them work.

Maybe I'm totally off base. But if I'm correct? If Lennie has a problem with Ed's... lifestyle, there's going to have to be an attitude adjustment.

If I'm correct about reading Jack McCoy's glances and smiles....? But suddenly Ed's not smiling. Jack McCoy, damn you, you had better not be jerking one of _my_ people around. I don't have enough information. I'm not sure if it's time to fight yet. I need to get a few more facts. But watch out, MR. A.D.A... If you wanna mess with me and _mine_ you'd better be packing more heat than your persuasive vocabulary.

Ed's gone for the night and Lennie's about to leave.

Deep breath, and I lean my head out.

"Lennie, I need to see you in my office. I think you know why."


	6. Parts 16 to 18: Lennie, Jack and Ed

**Lennie****, Part XVI**

by Cirocco (500 words)

"Lennie, I need to see you in my office. I think you know why."

Crap. Yeah, I think I know why too. Van Buren's been giving me and Ed weird looks for the last couple of days, as Ed's gotten more and more uptight and I've gotten more and more pissed at him. And I'm guessing she just saw him stalk off, and me follow him into the IR, and then him take off again.

"What's going on with you and Ed?"

"Nothing," I answer, and I feel about ten years old. "What's behind your back, Leonard?" Ma used to say, and I'd say "Nothin'," knowing she knew full well that I had a piece of gum I'd taken from the bodega counter when the cashier wasn't looking.

"Spit it out. Why'd he take off?"

"Chasing down a lead."

There it is, my mother's look, on Van Buren's face. Spooky. "Without you? For what case?"

Oh, the hell with it. This isn't fooling her. "Look, we're fine. He just had to go. Personal business."

"If it affects his work or your partnership, then it's not personal any more."

No. Some things you don't tell your boss. No matter how decent she is, no matter how much she wants to be everybody's mom. This is none of her business.

She glares at me and we do a battle of wills, and then she does this from-outta-nowhere thing. "Is this about Ed being gay?"

"What - you know?" I blurt out, and she looks like she's trying not to laugh. Yeah, OK, she got me. "Since when? How?"

"For a long time. Woman's intuition."

"Wish to hell you'd told me."

"Is this a problem for you?"

"What?" Now she's looking at me like she doesn't want to accuse me of anything. "Ah, come on. You're not serious?"

"You two haven't been getting along in the last few days and I get the feeling that-"

"Hey, come on, Lieu. If I could put up with some of the crap Mike and Rey pulled, I can sure as hell put up with a partner that prefers sweating up the sheets with guys." Ew, saying that brought up an image I didn't want at all. "It was a shock at first, that's all. I don't care who he sleeps with."

"Then what's the problem?"

No, we're not going there. What's going on between Ed and McCoy is really, really none of her business.

"Fine. You just let Ed know... if there's a problem, I want to know. I don't want your cases compromised because of anything going wrong between him and the DA's office."

How she figured that one out, I don't want to know. But I know my face is giving me - and Ed - away again. Damn, she's good.

She sighs. "I mean, Jack McCoy, of all people. With his rep? What the hell is Ed thinking?"

"Yeah, well, I don't think Ed's thinking much right now, Lieu. Not with his brain, anyway."

**Jack, Part XVII**

by Tobias Charity (500 words)

So now that you're asking yourself, "So what happened after we left Ed going into Jack's apartment.... what, WHAT??!! " we go back to Tobias Charity, with Jack!

A sudden crash of thunder rips me out of a restless sleep, and as the aftershocks ripple away I'm left flailing in the bed, my arms tangled in the sheets until suddenly I hit something solid that--what?

The whole night comes rushing back into my head like a flooding river and a flush creeps up my skin as I realize just what the solid thing I hit was--Ed.

Another crash of thunder rocks the building but Ed continues to sleep on, oblivious, and I watch him as he turns through his dreams. The window is casting a pale light into the room; the blinds are only partially drawn so an intricate shadow-pattern of raindrops dances on Ed's skin. The sheet's fallen to his waist and his arms are wrapped around the pillow; the muscles in his back shift in glorious, flowing harmony as he moves slightly in his sleep, only marginally disturbed by the tempest outside.

I tear my eyes away from Ed, who is still slumbering on, and glance at the clock. Only ten minutes until my alarm goes off and I have to start the day. I bite back a sigh and slip down underneath the covers, sliding my arm around Ed's waist. Ten minutes is an eternity when you don't know how much longer you'll have your lover. The quiet patter of the rain on the window provides a calming, even tempo and swiftly I'm in that hypnotic state between sleep and awakening.

The alarm beeps much too soon; I reluctantly slide out of bed and watch Ed slowly wake.

"Time s'it?" he mumbles through a yawn, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

"Six thirty," I say. "Do you want to shower first, or should I?"

He yawns again. "Can you make coffee and I'll go first? I'll go fast." I start to nod before the simplicity of it all strikes me. No awkward discussions, no horrible morning-after "I'll just go then, shall I?" mutterings, just...easy. Too easy; some part of me knows that we're eventually going to have to talk about this, because what relationship--there, I said the word--functions without at least minimal communication? I've had too many fail because of my lack of skills in that area; I'm not about to let one I was lucky enough to have drop into my lap founder and die just because I can't open my mouth to talk every now and again.

"Sure," I say, reaching for my boxers and a t-shirt. "Coffee'll be ready in about five minutes."

By the time he stumbles into the kitchen and drops into a chair, clad only in yesterday's rumpled pants, the coffee's done and I set a mug in front of him. "Cream's in the fridge, sugar's on the counter," I say, before sitting down across from him with my own steaming cup. I wrap my hands around the mug and look him straight in the eye. "Ed? We need to talk."

**Ed, Part XVIII**

by Cassatt (500 words)

"Ed? We need to talk," Jack says to me.

I've barely finished my first sip of coffee, needing the caffeine to wake me but not the buzz. I'm buzzed enough. The man is sitting across the table, looking damned serious, and all I can think is that he looks so damnably hot, and now I know just exactly how hot he is, and why don't we go back to tangle the sheets again, and... he wants me to talk.

"Okay," I say. I can do this. I should do this. We should do this. "Okay," I continue, "we do. Need to." My brain spasms, so I drink more caffeine. I realize, with a start, that serious can mean bad.

Jack smiles one of his small ones, and see, now I know a few of them. There's a small one that he gives me, sometimes, after we've kissed a certain way. There's a big one after I've....

"We haven't," he says, then hesitates, "clarified what this is." He waves a finger back and forth between us. "We haven't even gone on a date. I'd like to know what you think. What you're expecting...." He peters out and goes to his mug, too.

Wow. Jack McCoy is unsure. Wow. This rocks me, and I suspect it isn't bad. Unsure plus serious equals something that matters.

"I think," I say, "that I've got no expectations. Not exactly. I mean, I'd really like to go on a date, or more than one, hopefully. I'd like to see where this leads. I'd like it to lead somewhere." I can't believe that was so easy to say, and I have another sudden realization as the drug wires my bloodstream. This is easy, being here with him. I like being here. I loved last night. I'm very much liking this morning. Now I'm rocked again. I can see this -- the two of us. I want it, more than I'd let myself believe I did. And have I mentioned the chemistry factor?

"So," Jack says, looking serious again, "you're not involved with anyone else?"

Whoa, boy. Can I go back to bed, now? Do I go for absolute honesty; do I know what the hell that is? "Not exactly," I say, thinking that's pretty honest.

His face becomes completely impassive. _Fuck_. "Not exactly means that you're involved in an open sort of relationship?"

Have I mentioned that I'm an idiot? "No, no," I say, leaning forward because he's just leaned back; I want to grab him, keep him in place. "It's not an open relationship, it's no longer any relationship, not really. We've broken up. I told him...." I stop. Is it safe?

Jack's leaning toward me again. Impassive has become intense. "What did you tell him?"

"Am I being cross-examined?" I ask lightly, hoping to delay.

Jack's looking right through me. It's not a bad feeling, either. "What did you tell him, Ed?"

"I told him... about you, Jack."

Jack sits back, again. Intense has become stunned.


	7. Parts 19 to 21: Lennie, Ed, and Lennie

**Lennie****, Part XIX**

by Cirocco (500 words)

When did Mike Logan transfer back to the 2-7? Because this morning I swear I saw him saunter in whistling his "I got lucky last night" tune.

Except it wasn't Mike, it was Ed.

I guess I don't have to ask how things went last night with Jack. Not that he'd tell me; Ed's not Mike. Mike the morning after, you don't wanna hear about. Or maybe you do; there was Taniika with a double I, whose parakeet told dirty limericks. And Sylvia the Contortionist. And Gloria, who had breast implants, which was bizarre because of course I'm picturing my Gloria while trying _not_ to picture my Gloria and thanking god she's not 'my' Gloria any more.

So, since I don't wanna know about Jack's pets or flexibility or implants, I'm real grateful Ed doesn't kiss and tell. I got too much information already last night, when he answered his cell a little breathless. "Green," he said, laughing.

"Ed, we got a break on Swenson."

"Swen- oh! Lennie! Uh, yeah-" and I could hear him struggling to change mental gears, because obviously work was the farthest thing from his mind right then. "You mean the fingerprints?"

"They match."

"The daughter?"

"The mother."

"_Dana_ Swenson?" He broke off and there was some talk in the background. "Yeah, her. No, he said-" then a bit of a mixup while Ed tried to sort out who he was talking to, and then Jack came on the line.

"Dana Swenson? You're sure?"

"Uh, yeah."

"I'll have Serena draw up the warrant."

"OK. Uh, thanks."

So all I really need to know is they're OK, right? Still, this morning's been... awkward. First saying hi was uncomfortable, knowing he knew I knew, and I knew he knew, and you get the picture. But we had a debriefing with Narcotics first thing, so we just sorta nodded to each other and went to work. Regular routine, except for some weird silences here and there. At lunch Ed ducked out with a half-embarrassed grin, which I figured meant he was gonna meet Jack for lunch. And after lunch we went back to half-conversations, until at one point Ed took a deep breath and came out with, "Look, I uh... I'm uh, sorry about the last few days..."

And neither of us really knew where to go with that. I managed "Fine, no problem," and that was that.

All I really _need_ to know is they're OK. I think. But I'd _like_ to know if there's anything I should know about. Like are they actually dating or just sleeping together? What can I say or not say? What about boundaries between them as a couple, and us and the DA's office?

Besides, this is awkward, and it doesn't really have to be. So. Here goes.

"So, what happened?" I ask.

"What?"

"With McCoy. And no, I don't need details. I just wanna know what's going on, roughly. So I don't stick my foot in my mouth."

And Ed grins.

**Ed, Part XX**

by Cassatt (812 words)

I know the past few days have been rough, and I'm thinking I should apologize for them and all, given how cool Lennie has been. On the whole. Well, he has been. And even if last night was a bit weird, having this normal who-did-what-to-whom work conversation, like Lennie, Jack, and me were sittin' around the table in Jack's office, when actually Jack was nibbling on my shoulder while I was trying to answer the phone--still, Lennie's been cool.

"So, what happened?" he asks me.

"What?" I'm really not following him. Sometimes, I don't.

"With McCoy. And no, I don't need details. I just wanna know what's going on, roughly. So I don't stick my foot in my mouth." The mouth he's referring to is set in a tight line.

The guy looks like a really pretty waitress has just given him a pizza with pineapples on it, and he can't find an inoffensive way to show his distaste. He's working hard to stay cool. And I know he doesn't need details--trust me, I wouldn't dream of giving them. But I'm afraid I'm going to start laughing out loud any second.

"What?" he asks, his eyes narrowing.

"Nothing," I answer, and I grasp at something to appease him with. Something he can relate to. "Well, things are fine. Good. Jack and I are--dating." I smile. "So there's nothing that's gonna cause you to stick your foot in your mouth. Hell, I already took care of that, this morning." Ah, fuck, and here I had every intention of steering clear of details. Sure enough, he can't help himself. Lennie's curiosity.... Fuck.

So he's again asking me what happened, and I'm giving him the quick and dirty--no, dry--version of my conversation with Jack over coffee in his kitchen, about how I had to explain to Jack that I sort of broke up with my boyfriend 'cause of him, and how Jack freaked a little.

I say, "He got kind of--overwhelmed, at first." Now, there's no way I'm gonna give any more description than that, 'cause Jack looking stunned is something that I'm not even sure I could describe. I mean, the man's face has a million expressions, if you care enough to study them. And I do. I did. I plan to.

"Huh. McCoy, overwhelmed. I'da thought he might be more flattered, given the guy's ego."

Again--there's no way I'm goin' there with Lennie. Not defensive, and not explanatory. "I just needed a few minutes to make it clearer to him," I say, smiling, "that Barry and I were already on the skids, even before I--" and I can't go any further. This is getting a bit more personal than I planned. And Lennie's face is startin' to pinch. "You know," I say.

Lennie coughs. Whether something just didn't sit right in his throat, or he's really coming down with the flu is anyone's guess. "But he's okay now," Lennie finally says.

"Yeah." I can't keep the grin off my face, 'cause now I'm remembering exactly how okay Jack was, this morning, when he eventually got the picture. Jack reached across the table and took my hand, and started stroking his thumb across it, and his eyes were so clear, and so warm, that pretty soon we were both leaning forward and kissing so sweetly, and deeply, that I had to stop myself from dragging him back to bed and spending the next two weeks there. "Chemistry" doesn't explain the half of it.

"So," Lennie continues, "you're okay now, too."

"I'm--happy, Lennie." I stop, embarrassed.

Lennie smiles, and I can see that my happiness is no surprise to him, but the surprise to me is that he seems genuinely happy for me in return. And this does surprise me, I admit it. If there was ever a man whom Lennie could honestly say he really didn't like, it would be Jack. Hence--the pineapples on the pizza.

I'm walking toward my apartment building, and I swear I'm gonna start whistling like some goofus in a movie musical, all because I see Jack's bike parked on the street. Then I'm grinning like my cat just came home after being lost for two weeks because Jack himself is leaning against the building, reading by the light over the doorway. Maybe my cat did just come home--a sleek, strong leopard, and I think I must be falling pretty hard 'cause I'm getting way too poetic.

He looks up when I'm twenty feet away and smiles, and whoa whoa whoa, man, my heartbeat starts thundering. I want him upstairs, against the wall, tongue down my throat in, like, ten seconds?

"Hi," he says, still smiling.

"Hi." My smile almost hurts, it's so wide.

I unlock the door; he's right behind me. Okay, five seconds, tops.

**Lennie****, Part XXI**

by Cirocco (500 words)

Days like this, I'm really glad my partner's dating the EADA. Because I screwed up, frankly, and so did Ed.

Hindsight's twenty-twenty. Everybody liked that lady for her brother's murder, since their dad had just cut her out of the family business. And then she starts flirting with Ed while her brother's still lying in the next room, telling Ed that if he'll just let her go without telling anybody she'll come back for questioning later and maybe there'll be something in it for Ed...

First off: good luck, sweetheart, and second: you're under arrest.

So we haul her in, which, yeah, maybe we shouldn't have without just a little more proof. And we later find out that, no, she didn't do it; it was her brother's girlfriend. And now her fancy lawyer says that (a) we used excessive force, and (b) Ed arrested her because he was pissed because _he_ came on to _her_ and she wouldn't play.

Right. Good luck making that stick with Jack on our side. He'd fight it anyway, because that's his job, but he might not be as convinced Ed was telling the truth if Ed was just another cop. Lucky for us, this is Jack. He knows damn well that there's no way Ed would ever flirt with a suspect, or a woman. Or anyone, for that matter, now that they're a couple.

Yeah, they've finally worked it out. Took a while, which shouldn't be a big surprise. Jack doesn't have what you'd call an impressive track record with relationships. And I'm sure Ed "Excessive Force" Green was no romantic prize either. Plus there was some ugly mop-up at the beginning with Ed's ex. And then Ed had a hell of a time with Jack's commitment-phobia. And then there was the fact that they weren't sure what the hell they were doing... and trying to fit dating in between their busy schedules was no walk in the park either... and what was it gonna do to their careers if anybody ever found out... and who could know and who couldn't know, and why or why not...

Helluva lot of fuss over something pretty damn simple in the end. They liked each other. They wanted to be together. Once they both finally got that through their thick heads, the rest was pretty easy. It just took months of intense blow-ups and arguments that I half-heard or wrestled out of Ed.

Heh, yeah, that was me. Poking around, impersonating Ann Landers, helping my partner date another guy. This really wasn't covered at the Academy.

It's been worth it, though. Ed's happier, we get along with Jack, and they're both professional on the job. It's easy to forget they're a couple until I call Ed's number and Jack answers. And on days like today, being partnered to Ed is very, very nice.

I just can't believe my partner shacking up with a lawyer, let alone with Jack McCoy, has actually made my life easier. Who knew.

finis

(This site won't let me post actual e-mail addresses, so replace the at with the regular symbol)

Cassatt's e-mail: 

Tobias Charity's e-mail: 

LynK13's e-mail: 

Cirocco's e-mail: 


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